The Good Reverend has slender antennae and dragonfly wings. Actually, what she has is a lot of neon-bright cybernetics holding together flimsy organic remnants of such, but the final product looks healthy and artful. Her hair is a lustrous dark purple, appropriately pixie-cut and tousled. Her brow and cheeks are studded with dozens of tiny glass beads, suggesting a heart-shaped pattern on her face.
Cocked on her head is a plastic cowboy hat covered in golden sequins. Around her neck is a clear plastic priest's collar, set with red and blue LEDs wired to twinkle in synch with her voice. She wears a long duster coat made of thick silver plastic etched with ever-shifting holographic patterns; it's unbuttoned, revealing laced-up bright blue pleather platform boots that rise to her thighs. Holstered on her belt is a pearl-handled Modulari mood-ray revolver and a small, thick red book bearing the Fae Brigade's eternal seal (whatever it might be today) on its cover.
Around her neck is what appears at first to be a metal pendant depicting an anthropomorph mouse on a crucifix. Up close, one can see it squirm: it's actually a living and perfectly happy theremouse! The tiny creature's bound, gagged, and spread-eagled on a little cross. Even closer up, it's apparent she's grinning like a loon, just like her wearer.
So that was the end of that idea.
With an admirable bodhisattva-like determination, she resolved that her parents could go fuck themselves and from then on she would live in the other world, the awful one, until somebody could make sense of any of it for her. There would be no adventures, just confusion and spite. That very instant, the little girl became a very, very angry teenager. She changed her name to Bruise, spiked up the fur on her little mousey head, stole a police officer's cap and then turned the brutal son of a bitch into a grunting wallowing pig, mangled her own wings in a bout of rage, and pierced a good twenty percent of her body with cold iron so it would never heal. Those were wild, entertaining years for her, but they were not happy ones.
She's better now. Nobody knows quite yet how she got that way, not even her. The powers of D.I.Y. causality that her comrades in the Fae Brigade taught her have given her the luxury of figuring that out whenever she wants, and whatever she decides will have been true. She's leaning towards "torrid barroom pity/rescue sex with Gumdrop?" right now, but she might change that on a whim. Perhaps this was followed by the usual rigorous Fae Brigade training: sprinting in ballet boots and looking fantastic while doing it, alchemically field-stripping MDMA into water and back again, stopping a neurosis from 50 meters away with a mood revolver... Whatever happened to her, her wings are almost healed up and so is her heart.
She's seen a much better world now, one where people are still free to hurt but can really choose not to. She's changed her name to "Reverend Daisyslut" and adopted the dress and manners of a techno-psychedelic country preacher/temple prostitute. Somebody did a Nice Thing for her, and she's determined -- with the same fiery passion as Bruise had -- to pay it forward to as many people's worlds as she can. She's become the best kind of grown-up: a sweet, irresponsible one.
She likes to do drugs and fuck in plastic. Her entire motive is to see you smile. In a one-on-one contest, she can pet you under the table.
Every mysterious country preacher, in every urban fantasy story, has an eldritch spirit they've made dirty deals with! Reverend's is celiel, and while they're both pretty nice folks, the deals they made were exceptionally dirty. Wanna see the pictures? Reverend's the one who unlocked Maichirona's head and let celiel in, and she really really hopes that turns out to have been a good idea.